


Witchy Confessions

by VoldyIsMyFather



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, F/M, POV Hermione Granger, Swearing, Tied Up Hermione Granger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:29:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27610711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VoldyIsMyFather/pseuds/VoldyIsMyFather
Summary: Hermione has to confess to the Winchester's about her magic
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Dean Winchester
Comments: 2
Kudos: 56
Collections: Cast the Dice 2020





	Witchy Confessions

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Wizarding Crossover Connection's Cast The Dice 2020.  
> I believe this is the last fic I needed to write.
> 
> Week 6  
> Aug 1st  
> Full House  
> 4 4 5 5 5  
> Trope: Confessions

“She’s a witch, Bobby,” Hermione heard Dean Winchester snap at the older hunter, “A fucking witch!”

“Dean, the world isn’t that black and white, and you know it!” Bobby growled in response. Hermione was relieved to hear the man defending her.

“Doesn’t change the fact that she kept it a secret from us for months,” the eldest Winchester hissed angrily.

“I can’t say I blame her, judging on how you are acting right now boy!” the gruff hunter snarled, “You’ve tied her up for god’s sake, and all she was doing was trying to save your brother, successfully might I had.”

Oh, yeah, she was tied to a chair and gagged. Dean fucking Winchester and his bloody temper, she thought from her position in the chair as she strained her ears to hear the rest of the conversation in the next room.

* * *

_Earlier that day_

_A gust of wind whipped around them, as her and Sam Winchester walked among the graves looking at the headstones trying to find one that belonged to the ghost they were hunting. The lights from their torches illuminating the names, making them stand out in the darkness. She wished she could have used her wand, knowing a Lumos would have given her and Sam better visibility, which would have made their job easier. Unfortunately, despite having been hunting with the Winchesters and knowing their pseudo Uncle for nearly a year, she still hadn’t gotten around to telling them the truth about just who she was and her role in their lives._

_Dean had taken the easier job, won over a game of rock, paper, scissors of all things. He was currently talking to a witness, pretending he was an FBI agent or was it a Park Ranger this time? She couldn’t keep up with all his aliases and often stuck to calling him sir or boss when acknowledging him on a case._

_Suddenly, Sam stopped causing her to crash into his large frame._

_“I think this is it,” he whispered, shining his torch over a headstone which read:_

_Ella Greenwood_

_Wife, Mother, Friend, Sister_

_A wonderful woman_

_Born: 3 rd June 1938_

_Died: 4 th August 2000_

_“That’s her,” Hermione confirmed, remembering the article they had read in the paper earlier that day, about the woman who had committed suicide after learning that her husband was having an affair. She now took to haunting men who were cheating on their spouses._

_“Let’s dig,” Sam suggested, offering her one of the shovels from his bag._

_That was one of the other reasons she’d wish she told them about her magic; it would make grave digging a lot easier. But she was worried about how they would take it. Whilst it was likely Sam would be okay, Dean was likely to fly off the deep end and put a bullet in her. She heard him muttering enough about not liking witches for her to know that bringing up that she was a natural-born witch was likely to end with her body in a morgue. Despite her certainty that there were feelings growing between them, she knew Dean wouldn’t think about that, nor that he knew her, and would get right around to the witch killing bullets he kept close to hand._

_Pulling herself from her thoughts, she rested her torch atop the headstone and prepared to start digging alongside Sam. The second Sam’s shovel hit the dirt, the wind picked up, and a scream echoed from nearby._

_“Leave,” a cold voice whispered that was most certainly male._

_Did they have another ghost on their hands or had they made a mistake in their research?_

_Sam ignored the sound and started to dig; she followed suit. The wind got stronger, and suddenly she heard a familiar grumble of annoyance, and she watched as Sam was sent flying backwards, crashing into a gravestone several feet away._

_“Fuck,” she cursed, reaching for her wand from inside her jacket pocket, she cast a simple banishing spell to send the ghost away, whilst she tended to the wound Sam was likely to have received. Running over to her friend, she knelt down beside him and inspected the wound. Blood was pouring, and she knew if she didn’t do something, Sam was likely to suffer a serious injury. Quickly casting what healing charms, she knew, she hoped it would be enough to save Sam._

_After what felt like forever but was likely only a few minutes, Sam came round and looked at her in confusion._

_“What happened?” he asked, staring up at her blankly, “I remember that strong wind, and then everything went blank.”_

_“That is what I’d like to know too, Sammy,” a cold voice drawled from behind her and her and Sam looked up to see Dean stood above them, pointing his favourite 45 caliver Colt at her head._

* * *

“I think we should hear her out,” she heard Sam speak for the first time since she’d woken. She was grateful that Sam had managed to talk his brother out of putting a bullet in her right there in the graveyard. They’d tied her up, burned both Ella and her husband’s bones as it turned out they’d been haunting together, the husband in regret as to what he had done. Once they’d finished, they’d shoved her in the boot of Dean’s car like she was a fucking demon and hightailed it back to Bobby’s

“And what have her say what, it isn’t what we think?” Dean snapped.

“Maybe it isn’t,” Sam suggested, “I mean maybe witches are different in Britain, right?”

“Your brother has got a point,” Bobby stated, “I mean for all we know witchcraft might be different over there, they could even have a school where magic is taught.”

Hermione chuckled into her gag at Bobby’s comment; she got the distinct impression the gruff old hunter knew more about her kind of magic that he let on. It explained why he often sent her knowing looks whenever she talked about not all witches being evil which often resulted in arguments with Dean. She sighed; she really hoped that they would at least talk to her before deciding to end her life.

“Fine,” she heard Dean grumble from the other room, “We’ll hear her out.”

The doors opened, and she allowed her eyes to fall on each man individually, before resting on Dean.

Sam came forward and removed the gag from her mouth, “We won’t untie you until we decide if you are trustworthy or not.”

She nodded in response but kept her eyes on Dean as she did so.

“What would you like to know?” she asked, keeping her attention focussed on Dean, knowing he was the one she needed to prove her innocence too.

“Did you sell your soul to get your powers?” he asked, glaring at her.

“No,” she stated, “I’m a natural-born witch. I was born with my powers.”

“Bull-,” Dean spat angrily, “There is no such thing.”

“I’m what they call a muggleborn, in that both of my parents don’t have magic,” she continued ignoring Dean’s comment, “There are purebloods, children born to two magical parents who are also purebloods, then there are half-bloods which are children born to either a magical parent and non-magical parent or a magical parent and a muggleborn parent.”

“You can’t seriously-“ Dean started to rant but was cut off by Bobby whacking him round the back of the head.

“Shut up, you idgit,” the man snapped, “I’ve heard rumours of natural-born witches before so let her talk.”

“Thank you, Bobby,” she turned to smile at the older hunter, before continuing, “When I was six, I displayed my first sign of accidental magic, I summoned a book I wanted to read from the top shelf, but I didn’t know what it was until I turned eleven and I was invited to attend a school for people like me.”

“A school?” Sam asked, “They taught you how to do magic?”

From the look on Sam’s face, she got the impression that he was thinking of the magic that they’d seen the demon-made witches use.

“Our magic is different,” she explained, “We don’t use animal body parts or tokens to hex people or summon spirits. We make potions which can be used to treat illnesses or make you feel lucky. Our spells don’t require blood or us to hurt someone to cast them.”

“So what can you do with your magic?” Sam asked inquisitively.

“Well there’s a spell to lift objects, I can use it to levitate a table,” she offered thinking back to her Charms lesson of her first year, “There are spells which we can use to turn objects into animals or vice versa.”

“I don’t want a history lesson on spells,” Dean snapped, “If your magic isn’t from selling your soul, then why didn’t you tell us?”

“I’m not really allowed to,” she sighed, “I shouldn’t even use magic in front of you, unless in an emergency. There’s what is called a Statute of Secrecy that was put into place in 1689 and came into full effect a few years later. It basically means those without magic cannot know about our world.”

“Why?” Dean asked.

“Salem Witch Trials,” Sam and Bobby stated at the same time.

Dean sent them a shocked look before turning his attention back to her and raising his eyebrows as if to ask if it was true or not.

“Yes,” she nodded, “The whole entire population of magical beings went into hiding across the world. They secluded themselves and created their own communities, towns and ways of travel to hide from persecution.”

“Fuck,” Sam spluttered, “You said magical beings, so more than witches?”

“Um a male witch is actually called a wizard for one,” she offered, shifting her shoulders, she was starting to get uncomfortable tied her, and she was starting to think of places she could tie Dean and leave him as revenge.

“So, witches, wizards, what else?” Bobby asked.

“We have werewolves and vampires too, but they are a bit different in the magical world, there is a potion werewolves can take so that they keep their human mind on a full moon,” she added sadly thinking fondly of her old professor, “We also have goblins, centaurs and unicorns to name a few.”

“Right,” Dean eyed her, sceptically, “Sounds like something out of a fairy-tale.”

“I guess,” she sighed, suddenly feeling rather despondent, Dean really wasn’t going to come round was he.

“So secret society,” Sam stated in a friendly tone, bringing her attention away from Dean, “Has there ever been incidents where it has nearly gotten out?”

Hermione thought about everything that had happened during the war and the destruction to London the Death Eaters caused, then something twinged in her mind like a lightbulb, and she smiled, “September 1st 1992, my friends flew a Ford Anglia to school, it ended up in some newspapers, it might be online somewhere.”

She watched as Sam walked over to his laptop and flick it open and begin searching.

“Blue Ford Anglia spotted flying over London,” Sam started, “Spotted by several city-goers, nobody seems to know where it came from and authorities baffled.”

She watched as Dean walked over to his brother and read the article over his shoulder.

“Why did your friends fly a car to school?” Bobby asked, stepping forward pulling a knife from his pocket as he did so causing her to flinch in response, “I’m only going to untie you,” he sighed, shaking his head at her response.

“Thanks,” she smiled at him, “It’s a long story, so you might want to get a few beers or something.”

“Does it include why you flinched when I brought out my knife?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she nodded, “It’s not exactly a happy story either,” she advised.

“Alright, I get a round of beers,” he offered her a tight smile, “I’ll make you a sandwich too, you look like you need to eat.”

“Thanks, Bobby,” she grinned at the hunter.

“Can I have one too?” Dean asked, drawing his attention away from the laptop screen, his eyes flickered to her briefly, but he didn’t comment on the fact that Bobby had cut her loose and he also seemed calmer than he’d done so earlier.

“Make your own, ya idgit,” Bobby growled, “I’m not your god, dammed slave.”

Dean headed towards the kitchen, no doubt to make his own sandwich or spit in her hers, or maybe both.

“I never thanked you for saving me,” Sam offered her a smile, “so thank you.”

“Anytime,” she nodded, “Now that you know if your brother lets me go on hunts again, it will be so much easier now that you know about my magic.”

“Really?” Sam asked, “How?”

“Well there’s a spell for making light and one for making a fire,” she stated, “So we don’t have to worry about torches dying and lighters running out and not working.”

“Here,” a voice mumbled, and Hermione looked up to see Dean holding a plate out towards her with a sandwich on it, his face was stuffed with what she guessed was his own sandwich. Merlin, he didn’t, and a half reminds her of Ron at times.

“Thanks, Dean,” she replied to the eldest brother.

“Don’t mention it,” he retorted, “So what’s this about their being spells for lighting fires?”

She told the Winchester’s about the different spells she could use to aid them when hunting, and she got the impression it was swinging Dean more around to the idea of keeping her around.

“So, let’s hear more about why you are so afraid of knives?” Bobby asked, drawing their attention in his direction.

“You best get comfortable,” she sighed and begun telling them about the Wizarding War and all that it entailed.

* * *

_Later that Night_

She was sat on the hood of one of the old, scrapped cars in Bobby’s Salvage yard, a bottle of beer in her hand as she looked up at the night sky. It had been a long day, and whilst she felt relieved to have finally confessed to the Winchester’s and Bobby about her being a witch the conversation had been draining, and whilst she knew she needed to go to sleep, she knew if she did the nightmares would begin, and she didn’t want to face that too.

“I’m sorry,” a male voice called to her from a few feet away.

“Dean,” she sighed, knowing where this conversation was going.

“I shouldn’t have pointed the gun at you,” he offered as he walked towards her, “I shouldn’t have tied you up thrown you in the back of Baby and treated you like you were less than human.”

“Dean,” she spoke his name again, knowing that this conversation wasn’t something he was comfortable having, she heard him mutter ‘no chick flick moments’ to Sam to know he wasn’t comfortable sharing his emotions. She’d also seen how horrified and shaken up he’d been when she told them about what had happened in Malfoy Manor.

“You’re my friend, I should have trusted you,” he continued as if he hadn’t heard her say his name.

Shaking her head, she stepped forward to meet him and lifted her hands so that they rested each side of his face before pulling him in for a kiss.

“Apology accepted,” she whispered as she released him.

He didn’t say anything, just wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her again. He lifted her up, and she wrapped her legs around his waist as he carried her back towards the car she’d been sat on earlier. He kissed her hungrily as he laid her back on the hood, his hands moving to unfasten her trousers as she worked her hands against the buttons of his shirt.

Dean pulled away suddenly, “Are you sure?” he asked, “We don’t have to do anything further if you don’t want to.”

“Shut up and kiss me, Winchester,” she growled, reaching forward, and pulling him back on top of her.

“As you wish,” he muttered before kissing her again.


End file.
